Emptiness in Death
by Petrichor503
Summary: The death of John Watson hits Sherlock hard, but there is someone who can help. Rated M for later chapters. sheriarty/ jimlock
1. Chapter 1

The rain pattered and poured on to Sherlock's umbrella, the sky was dark and the clouds had trapped any means of sunlight, the harsh winds blew at the shaking trees which made branches fall and snap once faced with the cold ground, it had been like this in London for a few days now constant down pour, no sun just rain but there was a hint of sadness to the forever changing sky which must have mirrored the emotions in the gloomy graveyard, the storm was coming slowly the light sound of thunder rumbled between the black clouds and bright sparks were slapped across the skies which illuminated parts of the earth beneath it. The weather only accompanied the atmosphere around the cemetery; everyone had left after the slight spit of rain but Sherlock remained quite still hovering over the now soaking headstone, the monument was covered in flowers that had now drowned in the pool of mud in the darkening grass, the colours had been drained and the life was now being taken from them, they lay dishevelled beneath Sherlock's feet, how he envied them how quickly they had succumbed to death but the life had been taken from Sherlock he stood an empty man no soul, no emotion just a broken outline of an ordinary man. The black umbrella fell softly to the floor as he dropped it from his grasp, it rolled on the floor and was soon swept away by the increasing wind, Sherlock lifted his head to the grey sky and closed his swollen eyes, what could possibly hurt him now he thought, his tears were hidden by the rain falling down his wet face, he brought his arms up and ran his fingers slowly through his soaking locks he kept them there for a while before his body collapsed onto the ground, his knees fully in the wet mud in front of the gravestone, but he didn't care anymore, he rested his hands on the writing that laid before him. "I'm sorry."

Mary walked out of the church doors ready to go home, it had been a long tiring day and the weather was making everything worse, she looked down at the ring on her finger and sighed she attempted not to break down, she squinted her eyes and looked out at the graveyard she saw a black figure in the back of the cemetery, she knew exactly who it was, she ran out into the rain across the labyrinth of gravestones to reach Sherlock who was kneeling on the floor soaked to the bone, how long had he been out here she wondered. "SHERLOCK?" She shouted but there was no response he didn't even flinch at his name, she slowed down as she approached him, she breathed heavily as she pulled Sherlock up by the shoulders. "Sherlock what are you doing its freezing out here and your soaking, come on ill take you home" Sherlock didn't reply he just obeyed. The rain began to cease as the black taxi cab pulled up outside the door to 221B. He paid the cabbie and made his way up the stairs and into his living room but he didn't want to be there everything just reminded him of what he had lost, his best friend. He took off his coat and placed it in front of the fire that was blazing in the hearth, he walked through the kitchen and into his bedroom, he quickly undressed and turned on the hot water for the shower, the heat hit him hard as he stood under the shower head, his mind was completely blank, there was no thought, no case just the emptiness, the flat was dark the only source of light came from the fireplace, he walked in slowly in his pyjamas and blue silk robe, he found Mary asleep on the sofa so retreated back to his bedroom, he closed his curtains and checked the messages on his phone, eight messages from Mycroft, his condolences were nothing of importance. He laid his head down on his pillow and pulled the covers close to him, his mind didn't easily shut off but he immediately succumbed to sleep. The sweat coated his forehead and the tips of his curls as he awoke, his breathing increased as he rubbed his face, the sweat stung his eyes as he sat up and looked down at the now soaked pillow, he threw it to the floor and replaced it with the one on the other side of the double bed, he tried to control his breathing but it was no use he was fully awake, he turned to the bed side clock that read 4:05am he sighed stood up and started to strip his bed from the heat and panic of his nightmare. The darkness of the kitchen was soon illuminated by opening of the fridge, Sherlock looked at the empty refrigerator and found exactly what he was looking for, he took a glass from the cabinet and sat in front of the dyeing fire, the bottle was cold from the fridge but he soon finished it, he dropped the wine bottle on the floor and it was soon followed by a gin and whisky bottle from his secret supply, he had his back to Mary as she aroused from sleep, smoke filled her lungs as she coughed deeply, she still had he eyes closed but they were soon open and scanning the room, the empty bottles laid on the floor next to Sherlock, ash surrounded the armchair he obviously hadn't used an ashtray. "Sherlock- Sherlock are you okay?" He didn't turn around but heard her, his fingers clutched the end of his violin as he plucked the strings individually, the fire had burnt out completely now, his eyes were closed as he held the violin under his chin with a newly lit cigarette in his mouth. "How much have you had to drink?" He took his time to respond even if the answer wasn't to her question "Don't feel obliged to stay Mary, John is no longer here and I don't make good company so you can leave now" His words were flat, harsh even, he didn't care about her reaction he just wanted to be left alone, she didn't reply and was soon gone, he was right thought there was nothing keeping her there anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

The days turned into weeks as I lock myself in my own surroundings, since I lost John I have not been one for company, and besides who would want me at the moment, am I even me at the moment? This question reoccurs in my fragile mind, I am no longer the consulting detective, the great Sherlock Holmes is gone, I haven't had a case in weeks, Lestrade deemed me as frail, weak, damaged, they restricted me access to Scotland Yard until I become more adapt with the death of John, no one understands how my mind works they offered a therapist I refused of course how can a person I hardly know tell me about my feelings and thoughts when I know that they are also suffering from a mental health issue and a poor family life, of course I tried a therapist once but she ended up cancelling the future sessions due to my rude and uncontrollable behaviour, she just couldn't handle the truth she was dull, boring and cliché, no, therapists don't work on me, my mind is far too superior against their small existence. I have kept myself occupied but nothing numbs the pain not even the bottles of liquor I procure, they relax my mind but remind me of the emptiness I now feel every time I walk into the flat, the cold, dark place I call home, the pain slowly subsides but is never really gone. I can imagine what John would say if he were to walk in right now and find me a drunkard on the living room floor which of course I am, but I need the escape it provides, it takes me back to a place where he is still alive and I am still the man I once was not this, never this. My emotions got in the way, I felt the death of John and I hate my body for betraying me, the insomnia kicked in after his funeral I have not slept since, my body is yearning for sleep that will not come, I lay awake in the trap of my own thoughts as it swallows me whole, I try to escape the cage that is my mind. Some things block out the past, the obvious being alcohol, narcotics and occasional intercourse but nothing fills the hole where John once occupied, the affairs are quick, meaningless, boring but it fills the hollow hours of the day. I am keeping this journal to document my melancholy stage by stage, no pills necessary, no need to repress it. I seem to be pushing everyone away not that I didn't before but further this time I lay in my bed cold, alone the sadness overwhelms me at times how can one person feel all these emotions at once, they are slowly consuming me, I'm not meant to be saved, I am meant to live the life I was given, to pay the consequences of feeling! And I am paying the price for loving John.


	3. Chapter 3

The small television echoed in the background of the dull, dank basement, blood covered the concrete floor as the weak victim laid half unconscious in the middle of the room. Moriarty was filing his nails in the corner as Moran began to carefully mark the man in front of him; the screams were soon muffled by the gag that was thrust into his bleeding mouth. Moran let out a dark chuckle as he looked down at the helpless human being grovelling at his feet. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself Sebastian, just finish him off he doesn't know anything I'm bored of him now." Sebastian took his knife and lifted his hand- "Stop!" Moriarty looked closely at the television screen and turned up the volume so Moran could hear.

**Detective blogger found dead in alley way near Baker Street-** This Morning the body of John Hamish Watson was found dead down an alley way near his Baker Street apartment, The forensic report conveys to us that Mr Watson received multiple stab to his lower abdomen, a considerable amount of puncture wounds to his lungs, the cause of death was suffocation due to the lack of oxygen to the lungs, so far this investigation is pending and no one is in custody.

Moriarty was staring at the screen, completely dumbstruck, "That wasn't my handiwork" This seemed to annoy him slightly, he turned to Moran and grabbed the knife from his hand and quickly swiped the blade across the victims throat, the blood spattered across the ground and Jim immediately dropped the knife and walked towards the steel door. "Where are you going?" Moriarty turned around slowly and eyed Sebastian up and down with precision. New coat a week old, Westwood very nice, girlfriend back in town he hasn't called her yet, furrowed brow shows concern, he keeps looking at the body so indicates no remorse for the dying man at his feet, he loves his job. All of these deductions made him smile he had learned from the best after all and it was now time to collect him.

"Sebastian be a pet and clean this up for me, and then you can take the night off"

"Thanks but where are you going?"

"To collect what's mine."

Moriarty stood in the shadows of John's funeral, unknown to the world, invisible, the clouds started to roll in as the first water droplet hit the side of his cheek, he saw the whole crowd move like a swarm of ants protecting themselves from the rain, this made him smirk, he began to walk away but Sherlock caught his eye he hadn't moved from the headstone he stood there with his umbrella just looking down at the flower filled grave, Moriarty almost felt sorry for him, he looked like a lost puppy no one to turn to and nowhere to go, he wanted to walk over to him to comfort him but he didn't, he just looked with sadness at the man that was falling apart in front of him, god how he wished Sherlock would kneel for him like that- No! He couldn't think about that right now, he shook his head and fixed his eyes on Sherlock, he was soaking wet from the shower of rain but he was still fixed to the spot on John's grave, why wasn't he moving he thought, could Sherlock really feel this emotional over another human being? Especially one as dull at John. He had never seen this side to the brilliant detective he didn't know this side even existed, but he almost relished in it to know that Sherlock could feel something, did he love John? This question ran through his mind as he looked at the evidence he had obtained, was Sherlock even capable of love?

He held his umbrella and started forward but he was interrupt by a woman who dragged Sherlock's lifeless frame to the nearest taxi, he sighed and slowly made his way through the mud over to John's headstone, it was now grey due to the water, he lightly touched the top and hesitated before he straightened his back ready to walk away, his black Audi wasn't too far from the cemetery, he shook the water from his umbrella and climbed into the front seat, The rain continued to pour as his phone started to vibrate he answered it immediately he didn't greet the caller just listened.

"I am buying my time Sebastian, I am the one in charge here do you understand?"

"I will get in contact with him soon enough, which is no concern of yours, just do the job I pay you to do!" He slammed the phone down on the seat next to him and drove away through London in the storm.

Surveillance was issued around the 221B apartment by Moriarty during John's funeral he wanted to keep an eye on Sherlock until it was time to intervene, although Sherlock hadn't been seen for a few weeks now which indicated to Jim that he was not okay, depressed even, the only time Sherlock was seen out of his flat was to go to the local bar or brothel always coming back with the occasional male friend who left immediately in the morning, no detective in sight, this almost made Jim jealous. Moriarty sat on his white leather sofa scanning the cameras of Baker Street on his television screen in front of him, he saw Sherlock playing the violin so skilfully and beautifully but there was an amount of sorrow to the notes, he was still mourning, it had to be now, he picked up his phone from the glass coffee table and dialled the number for Moran in which he instantly picked up.

"It's time, you know the plan" he grinned as he made his way towards the vast glass windows, they covered the whole length of the room and opened out on to a large balcony, Big Ben chimed in the background as he ended the call and placed it back in to his pocket, he lifted his arms as if London was his empire, his kingdom of criminals and he was the king of it all. He could see everything, the traffic of black cabs, the hustle of ordinary workers, builders, buses, trains, footsteps, shouting, and multiple car horns. He closed his eyes as he absorbed his surroundings, he saw everything and he owned this city, his city.

Sherlock sat at the bar of the illustrious nightclub with a large whisky in his pale hand, the other rested on his head his fingers brushing through his glossy curls, the bar was loud and crowded but Sherlock paid no attention to any of it his eyes were fixed on the ice cube that now dissolved into his drink, nothing lasts he thought. He wanted to take the pain away so he did this by drinking, the lights of the club flashed around the walls like a wave, his head began to spin as he lost balance and fell face first on the counter, his head fell with a thud which made the bar tender look at him in pity, Sherlock snapped up and eyed the bartender with anger. "Don't you dare pity me!" The shouting made the man retreat to the next customer, the detective laid his head back onto the counter until he glimpsed on looking eyes from across the bar, he slowly got down from the stool steadying himself on the edge of the bar and made his way seductively across the crowd and towards the man that sat quietly at the end of the bar, he wasn't young but he was beautiful, there was a sparkle in his eyes as Sherlock stood in front of him, he was tall and his hair was perfect wow this man was too attractive for his own good.

"Mind if I join you?" his voice was slow, silky and seductive as he sat down next to beautiful man. He looked familiar but Sherlock couldn't place his face, god his mind really was getting worse he thought, this made him act faster he needed the rush to get his mind pulsing, the fix that narcotics could not fill, he touched the inside of the man's thigh as he began to trail his fingers up to his groin. He leaned in close to Sherlock's ear and whispered "Stop, let's take this somewhere a little more private." His voice sent heat down Sherlock's chest and through to his legs, he grabbed the detectives hand and led him out into the cold midnight air, something wasn't right he thought. "Of course, good evening-Moriarty" he spat the name at Jim who stood out of the front of the club leaning on his black Audi, he wasn't amused at seeing the state of his detective. "Get in the car." His voice was calm but Sherlock retreated a little.

"Why should I?"

"I will not ask again either you come willingly or I will force you into the car, your choice my dear."

"I'm not going anywhere with you" Moriarty seemed to laugh at this.

"Sebastian" The young man next to Sherlock forced the sharp needle into his arm, Sherlock had no time to react, the sedative was coursing through his lean fragile body there was nothing he could do to stop it his body was so weak that it worked at double speed. He knew he had seen that face before, "seb-as-tion Mo-ran." He collapsed but was supported by Moran, Sherlock was placed carefully into the back of the Audi, the bar security men wondered towards the car but Moriarty simple explained how Sherlock was drunk a story they were likely to believe as the bar was full of drunks at this hour. Jim walked around the car and opened the door to look at the sleeping wreck in his back seat, beautiful he thought, he turned back around to Sebastian who was about to head back into the bar.

"Take the week off Sebastian, enjoy yourself dear" He got into the car and drove towards the heart of the dark eerie city, London was so quiet this time of night, everything clouded by darkness the darkness that now covered Sherlock, he entered a dream state where nothing was real, or was it? he didn't know the difference anymore, only in his dreams was he able to relieve his memories with John, bitter sweet memories that clung on and didn't let go, pushing him further into a state of drowning, he couldn't think nor breath, the waves crashed around him and forced him under deeper and colder until his body was frozen out of sorrow and grief. Is this what death feels like?


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock slowly awoke to the strong smell of coffee and the faint sweet smell of strawberries, he laid perfectly still as the aromas wafted through the air, he took in his surroundings, as he sighed, another day that he was still alive, another waking up without John, he closed his eyes once again but was awoken by the opening of the bedroom door, Moriarty walked in with a silver tray in his hands and placed it gently on the side table next to the bed, on the tray was a pot of coffee and sugar, he knew Sherlock did not take his coffee with milk so was replaced by a pot of yogurt for the bowl of fruit. He eyed the tray suspiciously as he lifted himself up and reached for the coffee, it was hot and sweet as it ran down his dry throat, Moriarty sat down on the edge of the bed as he smiled up at the detective, Sherlock remembered every aspect of the previous night, Moran, the sedative but was unclear to why he was there, if the criminal had wanted him dead he would been by now, what could he possibly want from me, I'm nothing to him he thought. They had been staring at each other for at least ten minutes now neither wanted to start the conversation but soon enough Sherlock gave in. "I'm privileged to be in your bed Jim, but why am I here?" Moriarty wickedly smirked at him and placed his tea cup back on the tray.

"How did you know it was my bed?" He knew the answer of course he just wanted to hear a part of the great Sherlock Holmes, the part that had been missing since the death of John. "There are a considerable amount of short brunette hair strands on the pillow on the other side of the bed, you sleep in this bed. You didn't answer my question though, why am I here, just kill me already if that is even what you want we both know it isn't so why don't you enlighten me on your intentions" God this man had a way with words, I could get hard just listening to your voice Jim thought, he lifted his eyebrows and placed his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry about John but you must know that his death had nothing to do with me, I wanted to destroy you but I never-"

"Please stop" Sherlock looked down at the white sheets as he was reminded of John's death, he didn't want to hear Jim's condolences, the pain echoed through his heart and he had to clutch his chest from the constant suffering that the wound had made, the criminal hated seeing this first hand, he attempted to touch Sherlock's hand but resisted he was fragile at the moment. "I don't want anything from you Sherlock I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I can see how much pain you are in and I want to make you better sweetheart, I care for profoundly." This time he took Sherlock's hand and intertwined their fingers he leant down and kissed the top of the finger tips, this shocked the detective but he did not pull away, he looked at Jim curiously as he touched his skin, the heat was obviously there his pupils were dilated, sweat on his brow, rapid pulse but he then realise that his body was acting the same way, he had to give in to his bodies desires. He started forward and brought his lips to Jim's, it was so powerful like an electric spark but his touch was also loving, Moriarty really did care about him. Jim curled his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he deepened the kiss, the detective bit his bottom lip as he groaned out in pleasure. "We belong together Sherlock you know we do" He didn't answer but began to trail his hands underneath Jims t-shirt and towards his nipples. They undressed slowly savouring each moment of one another. Sherlock brushed his fingers along Jim's thighs as he took him into his hand, he started to rub slowly than quickening the pace in synchronisation with the panting of the crumbling man, Jim dropped his head as his detective nipped and sucked at his nipple then made his way across his collar bone to his neck, he couldn't take it anymore he was about to climax when Sherlock suddenly stopped, he moaned at this but was surprised as Sherlock flipped Jim on to his front he smiled as he sat up on his knees and leant his head on the bed, he spat onto his fingers and then inserted one into Jim's entrance, he yelled out in pleasure as he inserted two more fingers, he caressed down Moriarty's spine as he whispered in his ear, Jim bit so hard on his lip that he was sure he would leave a bruise, his hands were clenched into the sheets as he heard the deep seductive voice and the pressure of third finger enter him. "I want you to scream my name while I fuck you." He tenderly kissed the side of his neck as he slowly entered Jim. "Fuck-fu-ck, Sherlock!" He thrashed into him hitting his prostate which made him scream Sherlock's name, this only made the detective go faster, harder, deeper, he bought his hand around and took Jim and started to rub once more in rhythm with his own thrusts, the criminal squirmed as he felt himself close to climax. "Sherlock!" he began to slow down and then forced himself inside faster until Moriarty screamed his name louder and louder as Sherlock groaned and finally released inside of him, the warmth of the hot liquid covered his hand as he pulled out of Moriarty. Jim laid panting on Sherlock's rising chest, his breathing was just as rapid as Moriarty's, they were both laughing as Jim tenderly tickled the inside of Sherlock's arm, he raised his head and kissed his detective passionately before pulling away, "I want to help you, get you out of this depression, I want to be with you Sherlock and I know you feel the same way about me, we belong to each other, you're mine."


End file.
